In a Gust of Wind
by writerluv
Summary: This is the story of how Victoria and James met. The story of mixed emotions and a twisted love. Victoria/James
1. The First Encounter Victoria POV

**Summary: **This is the story of how Victoria and James met. The story of mixed emotions and a twisted love. Victoria/James

_**Authoress**_ know, I know. Who would want to read about this most hated couple? Well, this is the question I present you: who _wouldn't_? So read and review!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Twilight. Nor Victoria or James.

**Victoria POV:**

They asked me to go pick up the meat again. _No._ My parents, who are too lazy to do anything for themselves, ordered me to pick up the meat from the slime-ball-of-a-neighbor Wyatt O'Riely. Of course--other than being slothful--, my dearest mommy and daddy have other motives (as in, they expected the news on a possible son-in-law). I already dread the thought of being in the vicinity of the vile man but vowing under the sanctity of God that anything and everything I do has to be passed by the misogynistic pig who has never heard of a bath on top of that? I don't think so.

The thought of going to bed with the three hundred pound, oily, balding, horrid man who is twice my age makes me want to vomit my breakfast and some organs. Besides, my future would be bleaker with him than being kicked out of by my own parents. Eh, like I needed them anyways.

Though, I have to say, the walk to and back from his house is far worse in threadbare shoes in the woods on a windy evening and caring a basket of pork and beef with the added onus of _not_ being eaten by a ravenous bears who, by the way, might find me a very appealing center piece.

A massive force set every step I took by three. My strength and stamina slowly dwindled against the raging wind. Soon, to recover, I stopped behind a tree. Chills coursed through my body, creating a frozen cast around me. I released my flaming red hair to protect my poor neck against the cold. Agh, the wonderful stench of pig fat radiated from my beautiful hair. My beautiful, precious hair. The only thing I liked about myself. When my grandmother was still alive—may her soul find peace--, she admired my hair and often called me her little lion because my hair resembled so much of a lion's mane. I wish she never died…she was the only one who understood me…for that matter, who ever cared about me.

Pathetic tears streamed down my numb, rosy cheeks from remembering my beloved grandmother. She took care of me, and I took care of her. Or, that was what I was suppose to do anyway.

Pushing the horrid memories from my wretched, I gathered my belongings, drew my hair back and stood up with some difficulty. The wind didn't die down during my break; in fact, it grew in strength, charging all its energy at me. Dust clogged my air passages, causing me to sneeze. The basket of meat slipped from my arm; the meat soon was covered by the swirling dirt.

No! Not the meat! As quickly as I could, I stuffed the meat into the woven basket. Extra dirt began to line the lining of my basket—today's newspaper, _The Forks Gazette (_Headline Story!: 1910, The Year of the Great Massacre!); it prevented the basket from getting destroyed by the meat juice. But it was too late; all the meat was destroyed. A sickening feeling crept up from my stomach to my throat. My parents will surely force me to undergo Father's whip lash or worse, the hot, burning coal for my clumsiness. Of course, everything depends on how much moonshine they consumed while I was gone.

The scars only from two days ago still tingled on my arm.

The horrible feeling I had in my throat grew more volatile when I approached the little cottage-type house I lived in since m birth. The horrid place holds too many terrible memories within its wooden structure. From day one, my eighteen year life has been spent at the service of demons from hell.

Maybe, if I get Pete and Joshua out before I show Mother and Father the meat and send them to town for a few hours, whatever punitive action will be taken on me will not spill over to my baby brothers. But I can only hope.

As I braced myself for the worst, in the distance, I could hear a faint slamming. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. The rhythmic sound of the wind opening and closing would send the most ominous chills through the bravest soldiers. Against the raging wind, I tugged to my house; then, through the light film of dust, the door marked with my blood and tears swung open and closed. My parents could have left the door opened when the stumbled in, or my brothers could have been scared enough by our parents' hate and just made a run for it. Something a girl like me could never do.

A strange presence took hold of me as soon as I came close. My inner voice screamed for me to run the other direction, to never stop until my legs couldn't go on. But I couldn't turn and run like a coward.

Whatever happened or will happen, my brothers need me.

The strong scent of blood hit me hard; blotches of blood covered the usually meticulously clean door (I should know, I have to clean it every day). I pushed open the door; fear, apprehension, anxiety filled up the bitter void that people call my heart. Had my parents finally committed the worst sin of them all? Had they killed Pete and Joshua?

Furniture was turned upside-down, and more blood splatters covered the wall. Then, I saw the sight. The sight of my European-descendant father, sitting in his favorite chair by the fire place, covered in his own blood and severed limbs were thrown all over the room. A ravenous beast must have done this, a bear. Under normal circumstances, I would have thought this, laughed at the old man's pathetic demise and go to town to shout my new found freedom, but these weren't normal circumstances.

A man with tangled, long hair that was tied up in a ponytail stood over the corpse; his clothing barely contained the mightiness of his muscles; despite the various streaks of mud all over his smooth, pale skin, he smelt so good. The intruder, sensing my presence, quickly turned, flashing his bright, red eyes at me. I didn't know whether to be afraid or joyous.

_**Authoress Note:**_ Like it? Hopefully the answer is yes. Also, I do need a beta reader, so if you're interested, please PM me! Next chapter will be from James's POV. Please review! 


	2. The First Encounter, James

Chapter 2:

"Please, don't kill me! Please!" The man's dismal pleas were slurred between crying and sacrificing whatever was left of his family. First, his pitiful wife stumbled into the living room from the kitchen with a shot of whiskey in her pale hand. Picking her up by the ratty sweater she wore, I looked into her brown eyes; the flickering moment of sheer terror delighted me to no end. I decided, being the sweet and innocent angle I am, to break her neck before ripping it off to drain all the blood. Secretly, I hid my smile away from the whimpering man. Then,--at the most inopportune time, for them anyway—two little boys came screaming their babble from a game they were playing.

Oh, the incessant screeches made me want to shut them up then and there, but my killer instinct restrained me. _It_ wanted to feed on the pleasure of the man's patent fear of death by showing him what his upcoming future could look like. The boys soon stopped in awe at the scene unfolding behold them; their chocolate-brown eyes—much like their mother's--became round and too big for their heads. Surveying the area, their mouths dropped. I couldn't help but release a little chuckle.

Oh, this was all too easy. Well, maybe too easy.

As much fun as torturing a pathetic man who's willing to sacrifice his family for his cockroach life, this whole façade bored me. Just simply bored me. Seriously, where is the fun of killing a drunk woman, two children and the embodiment of what should be defined as evil? None.

Putting out of their misery, I swiftly killed and drunk their blood. The man continued to whimper from behind the chair.

Quickly, I studied my current environment. The children had the same flaming-red hair as the mother—whose head was rolling around somewhere close to the kitchen--, unlike the father who had blonde hair. The man still quivered and cried his poor heart out for his life.

"Please!" he finally implored. "Please, I have one more daughter! I'll give her to you if you spare my life!" he continued to cry or poorly attempted to pull some heartstrings. I turned to him, allowing to get a good look at me. At my omnipotent power. At my vicious red eyes.

"Do you think I care about your life?" I sneered. He shrunk back further into a corner. "I'm hungry and out for blood. How about this as a proposition?" I picked him up with one hand to demonstrate my strength. "I will kill you now and then wait until your daughter gets here?" Flashing my brilliant smile, I could feel the blood pulse under the hot, sweaty skin of his neck. My teeth easily sunk into the soft flesh. To get a better position, I placed him on the damned chair and sucked more blood out of his system.

Then, in a gust of wind, I smelt the most beautiful scent ever. Oh, it made me salivate. I slowly pivoted, so I wouldn't scare my newest prey away. She stared at me, studying me. A small twitch pulled the edges of her lips, like she was suppressing a wicked smile. Of course, my speculation was all built on the very few areas of her face that wasn't covered by her untamable, red hair.

"Well, Little Red Riding Hood has finally come home," I joked. She seemed unmoved by the tease, but her stance began to wobble. Her face moved from apathy to shock to worry all within a second. The blood must have finally gotten to her.

"Where are my brothers?" she whimpered. If it weren't for my superhuman hearing, I don't think I would have been able to hear her. In all fairness, that was the first time that I have ever heard that question. Usually, it's "Why are you doing this?" or "Please don't kill me!" or now my favorite "Take my family!" This was the first time I have ever heard the whereabouts of a loved one without considering his or her life.

"I won't ask you again," she paused to summon up some courage to finish her question, "where are my brothers?" Furry soon began to replace fear. Hum, this might not be a boring day after all.

I nodded my head toward the fallen table where the two boy's bodies lied. For a moment, she locked her gaze onto mine, making sure what I indicated was true. The girl ran to the cadavers before hugging the cold, pale bodies.

"I shouldn't have left you here. I shouldn't have left you here," she repeated the mantra again and again. The burning sensation came up. I didn't want to eat her. Or, at least, not yet.

Slowly, I approached the grieving sister and truly intrigued what motivated this girl to get up in the morning. Once more, I smelled near her neck. Oh, the aroma called me in to take a bite! Just I was about to take the bite, something snapped in me.

"Run," I growled.

"Wha-at?" she sniffled.

"Run!" I screamed, grabbing hold of her tatter dress, pushing up her against the worn wall and released her. "Run!" I laughed my final warning. Torn between caring for her deceased brothers or preserving her life, she stood there, for a second, staring right to my soul with her warm, chocolate eyes. Then she sprinted through the woods.

Disappearing from my eyes in to the distance.


	3. Runaway, Victoria

I sprinted, ignoring all the sharp pains in my feet, ignoring all the sounds of the woods that, under normal circumstances, would send my senses into overdrive. Not now or ever—I can never stop moving, never sleep, never rest. Since my life was turned upside down, it must be that of a nomad's; the man—my brothers' murder—would be after me to ensure that no word would pass my lips. Oddly enough, dead people make the worst witnesses.

Soon, however, the energy began to seep out of me; my legs—greatest asset in flight-- became deadweights. Tripping over a tree trunk, I fell hard on the leafy floor and too tired to move. I didn't know where I was, but I couldn't have been far from town (the density of the trees was dwindling). I turned over to deeply inhale the crisp, cool air, only doing this with the belief there was no way _he_ could have followed me. My brothers, who must have been gifted by Atalanta herself, were pretty fast and beat many of the older boy at their school, but, always at home, I had the advantage of knowing the woods like the back of my hands and, in gerneral, much, much faster than them. Eventually, they got over their egos and declared me the fastest amond us. If only this was like anyother time.

There is only so much pressure a person can take in a lifetime, let alone in a day. First, my family was brutally slaughtered like pigs at a butcher's by a madman who, coincidentally, was now after me. But these reflections hardly pacified me…in fact, they disheartened me further than what my parents or Wyatt 'O Reilly could do to me in ten lives.

Though, that didn't stop the questions from flying in and out of my head for the next hour: "What happens if he finds me?" or "How long will this go on?" or "Who was the possessor of the brilliant, scarlet eyes?" It was like the answers to the questions would help me any in this situation.

The sun began to descend along the horizon, while allowing the diamonds of the sky take their rightful place. The wind died down to a light breeze as the clouds drifted, revealing a misty orb. These nights are rare in Forks, Washington, and on these nights, Grandma and I use to set up camp in a clearing about half a mile from the house after dinner. Then, we gazed the night away, looking up at the constellations; she told the magnificent stories behind the stars as I listened. Use to, anyway.

Lost happiness is never worth remembering.

Deciding a camp was needed to be built, I climbed up a tree and found a strong enough branch to rest on for the night. It was a good place to oversee the area, a good place to hide. Though sleep beckoned me with heavy eyes, the images from this morning still haunted me. Their mangled bodies; cold, lifeless bodies; the same paleness of _him._

Oh, Joshua! Oh, Pete! I'm so sorry! I should have brought you two with me on my trip, instead of mopping and only thinking about where I had to go. Maybe you would have had time to elude the vicious monster who plagues us now! Please, please forgive me for my fatal mistake! It is already hard enough to life for me, knowing that I'm the one who killed you. Why, why were events repeating?


End file.
